


If Six Monkeys Were Game

by shinobi93



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinobi93/pseuds/shinobi93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A travelling theatre troupe, a spying mission, and unexpected pirates. It should all be fairly normal for Howard Moon and Vince Noir, but the day just keeps sending their world into a spin.</p>
<p>“All your life you live so close to truth, it becomes a permanent blur in the corner of your eye, and when something nudges it into outline it is like being ambushed by a grotesque.”<br/>-Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Six Monkeys Were Game

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Tom Stoppard's play 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead' (itself a remix of Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'), which is where the title and various elements of plot and style come from. It doesn't necessarily require familiarity with the play to be read, though there are a lot of references to be caught if you do know it, and some metafictional elements not out of place in the Boosh, but also stealing from the play.
> 
> Otherwise, it's basically a post-series 3 vaguely-an-episode fic.
> 
> No warnings apply that I'm aware of - usual levels of death threat/insults for the show.

"GUILDENSTERN: The law of probability, it has been oddly asserted, is something to do with the proposition that if six monkeys _(he has surprised himself)_... if six monkeys were...  
ROSENCRANTZ: Game?  
GUILDENSTERN: Were they?  
ROSENCRANTZ: Are you?"  
- _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_

 

 

 

 

 

A shop in Dalston. One man is lining up brown felt tip pens on a shop counter, then changing his mind and messing them up to place into a new order. Let that be his character note. Another is staring into a full length mirror wearing only a feather boa, flowery cardigan, and glitter hot pants, poking at his hair with one hand - his character note.

 

 

 

 

 

‘Howard, do you remember why we left the Zooniverse?’

‘No.’ 

‘Me neither. Just checking.’ 

Howard looks up from his pen arranging. 

‘Actually, not at all. We just...did.’

‘We just ended up here.’

‘Do you think we should know?’

‘Naboo probably does.’ Vince peers even further into the mirror, nose almost pressing against it. ‘I need a new look for today.’

‘That’s your third today. We must have ended up here somehow. We must have left for a reason.’

‘Why would we need a reason?’ Vince steps back from the mirror. ‘I wonder what’ll come back in fashion this afternoon. I heard a rumour about glam togas but I’m pretty sure that was last week.’

‘Things don’t just happen. They happen for reasons. That’s how the universe works.’

‘Not how our universe works.’

‘It must be. It must have internal logic. We must have left for a reason and we must be here for a reason.’ Howard hits the counter top, sending pens spinning off in different directions.

‘I’m sorry I brought it up.’

‘But are you sorry we’re here for no reason?’

‘We are here for a reason.’ Vince doesn’t look convinced by his own words.

‘To run a shop for a permanently high shaman and his DJing familiar? That’s not a reason, that’s an...an excuse. An excuse for not doing anything else.’

‘We do other things.’

‘Play bad gigs and fail to get a break doing anything? I’m meant to be worth more than this. I’m meant to be doing something with my life. I must have come here for a reason.’

‘Naboo doesn’t make us pay rent.’

‘But why did we leave the zoo?’

‘I think it closed, Howard. This isn’t pressing. What is pressing is what I should wear. This cardigan is useless.’ Vince pulls it off and throws it across the shop.

‘But did it close before or after we left?’

‘It can’t have closed before we left, or we’d just be...there. In a closed zoo.’

‘Like we were every night when it closed? Vince, it makes no sense. Where’s the logic? We must have done it for a reason.’

‘You mean, you must have done it for a reason. I could have just left without one. Maybe you followed me.’

‘But why?’ 

Vince looks momentarily hurt. 

‘Stop asking questions. It’s confusing me.’

‘But why did we come here? Why am I in this shop, why do I live in the flat above it, sharing a room with you even though there must be space somewhere else for one of us to sleep?’

‘Why does it matter?’

‘It’s just so unlikely. How did I end up living with an ape and a shaman and a best mate who stands in our place of work wearing just pants and a fluffy thing.’

‘It’s a feather boa, Howard. Everyone knows that. And if you’re so fussed about probability, go flip a coin, see where that lands you.’

‘No, that’s pointless. And we don’t have any coins. There’s no money in the till. I told Naboo but he just shrugged and told me to piss off.’

‘He does that most times you speak to him though. It’s like a natural reaction.’

‘From everyone?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Not you.’ Howard looks slightly surprised that he’s said this aloud.

‘I’m weird, Howard. Isn’t that what you say? “Of course you’d do that Vince, you’re weird.” Because I live in some romantic version of the world where everything is sunshine and rainbows, right? Can’t you just accept that we’re here and we don’t know why? Be happy with that rather than sad about it. Wait… that’s it! Romantic...new romantic...new new romantic!’

‘What?’

‘That’s the next outfit! New new romantic! Future dandy robber! There’s a ruffled white shirt in here somewhere, I made you try it on to be a brooding hero, remember? Silver space boots, sure I can knock up a suitable cape and hat…’

 

 

 

 

 

Howard blinks and Vince is gone, off into the tiny stock room under the stairs. ‘Stock room’ is perhaps too kind a term for the large cupboard that houses everything they aren’t selling, mostly because Vince doesn’t want anyone buying it or because it has scared one too many a potential customer. They don’t really have stock as much as ‘things’, but Naboo never seems to care. His shady shaman potions are the real income of the place, though Howard pretends not to know this in order to feel less like a front for criminal activity, albeit magical criminal activity. Sometimes, like after Naboo embarrassed him in front of everyone at that party Vince had thrown, Howard considers telling someone, possibly the shaman council, about this sideline, but he’s not always entirely sure they’d care. A lot of magical business seems to involve taking mind altering substances with varying levels of surreptitiousness anyway, he thinks.

Barely a few minutes have passed - not even long enough for Howard to have done anything with the felt tips he’s just picked up - when Vince reappears.

‘Ta-da!’

‘Space pirate?’

‘New new romantic.’

Howard raises his eyebrows. Vince has forced him to be able to recognise Adam Ant in various costumes at twenty paces, so it isn’t entirely unfamiliar. The silver cape has stars and lightning bolts sewn onto it and the boots a well-known part of the futuristic prostitute vibe. A hat, presumably more highwayman than pirate though Howard himself can’t tell the difference, has been covered in glitter and the billowing white shirt is indeed the one Howard wore on one of the few occasions that Vince’s pleas to dress up on slow days in the shop were begrudgingly accepted. Approximately five necklaces circle his neck, of various lengths. It is not a particularly weird look for Vince; indeed, not hugely different to the times when they were teenagers and Vince would dress as his rock’n’roll heroes, standing outside Howard’s front door as Ziggy Stardust. He always thought that it was time that made him unable to quite remember how they got from there to the zoo, but now he’s less certain.

Vince spins around.

‘What do you think?’

Howard goes to make a sarcastic comment, anything to show how little he cares about what is unlikely to be the last outfit of the day, but his mouth has other ideas.

‘Are those trousers...leather?’

He didn’t mean to ask that. It’s clear they are. What isn’t clear is how Vince got into them. There’s certainly no room for loose change. Vince simply grins.

‘I need to do the make up, I’ve not had time yet.’

Howard wants to keep asking how they ended up here, why he’s so unable to leave even when he tries, but he is instead caught up watching Vince adding what seems to be three kinds of eyeliner. Good workmanship, he tells himself.

‘Does it make you happy?’ he blurts out.

‘What, eyeliner? Yeah, mostly. ‘Cept when it conspires with the lipgloss, then it’s a wanker. Never lipstick though, only lipgloss. Ain’t figured that one out yet.’

‘No. Being here.’

A pause. Vince is still focused on his reflection, on the eyeshadow in hand, on pretending to give it no thought.

‘Yeah, when you’re not asking me existent questions.’

‘Existential, you mean.’

‘Well, the questions exist, they must be existent questions.’

‘I don’t think you-’

‘Are you?’

‘What?’

‘Happy?’

Vince turns around. Howard stutters. Sometimes not, he thinks, but when I’m with you, there’s something...even in spite of everything else…

Somebody walks into the shop.

 

 

 

 

 

It isn’t somebody, it’s somebodies. A whole group of somebodies, dressed in an eccentric mix of styles, all different heights and ages. They stand in the limited space of the Nabootique and look around, muttering to each other. Howard notices that in their entrance, Vince has moved to stand beside him behind the counter, though Vince is peering into a small mirror he has conjured from somewhere that clearly wasn’t pockets and pretending to be casual.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ Howard addresses the man at the front of the group at the same time Vince hisses at him.

‘Howard!’

Howard inclines his head whilst keeping his eye on the strangers.

‘What?’ he whispers.

‘They’re dressed like a combination of us!’

Howard takes in the group’s sartorial choices. There’s brown, there’s silver, there’s some sturdy looking shoes and some red heeled boots. The man Howard has assumed is the leader is wearing light tan trousers and a black jumper alongside earrings and an impressively groomed beard.

‘We’re players,’ the man says before anything more can be said on their outfits.

‘What do you play?’ Vince asks. ‘Football? Ludo? With chance?’

Howard coughs.

‘They’re actors.’

‘We’re a theatre troupe. We do performances, though times being what they are, we can’t always get the demand.’

‘And what are the times?’ Howard asks. ‘Indifferent?’

‘Full of arts cuts. It’s a nightmare.’

‘Right.’ He looks at Vince, who is now putting on lipgloss that presumably hasn’t been fighting with the eyeliner. ‘What brings you here?’

‘What brings you here?’

Howard goes to say ‘I work here,’ but instead answers with ‘I don’t know.’

‘Us neither.’

‘Right.’

‘But since we are here, how about we give you and your…’ The player looks at Vince inquisitively. ‘…partner a performance? Fifty euros for your choice of show, an extra thirty per person who wishes to...get involved, so to speak.’

‘Become an actor?’ Howard thinks he may have had enough of trying to break into acting.

‘Not exactly. It’s more like...becoming the character you want to be. You choose the setting, you choose the role, you can...fulfill certain dreams, et cetera, et cetera.’ The player gestures vaguely.

‘Et cetera?’

Vince coughs, an almost exact replica of Howard’s earlier one.

‘Howard,’ he says in a stage whisper. ‘Like acting out your fantasies.’

‘The space pirate has it!’ says the player triumphantly.

‘I am not a space pirate.’

‘Like your fantasy of becoming an actor?’ asks Howard.

‘Like your fantasy of getting off with a space pirate.’ Howard blushes red. ‘Not you specifically. Or a space pirate. Just in general. A person. And another person. That kind of fantasy.’

‘We probably don’t need to be here if you want to get off with a space pirate,’ offers the troupe leader. ‘You seem to have that covered.’

‘I have no fantasies about doing anything with a space pirate, thank you very much.’

‘I’m a new new romantic, anyway,’ Vince mutters, but nobody is listening.

‘Listen here, sir.’ Howard is going for threatening, and achieves awkwardly attempting to be forceful. ‘We have no need for any of your...services. Acting isn’t some way of fulfilling sordid little dreams. It’s an art. It’s about telling a story. It’s about real emotion. You might as well be on your way as we won’t be paying you anything.’

The whole troupe stare at Howard. Nobody says anything.

‘How about,’ starts Vince. ‘We give you this T-Rex and in return you act out a story for us. Just a little one. Whatever you feel like.’

There is a moment of consideration from the troupe. They all look at the shelf where the plastic T-Rex stands. Howard starts to worry what story they’ll do. He saw the glint in the player’s eye at the ‘getting off with a space pirate’ comment.

‘If you throw in five euros, we accept.’

Vince turns to Howard.

‘You know I don’t have pockets. C’mon, just five euros, they’ll put on a little show and be on their way. You like plays.’

Howard scowls, but fishes the note out of his pocket.

‘At least then they might leave,’ he mutters. Vince pats him on the shoulder and holds out the payment.

‘Make it good, but not too depressing, not like that shit Howard likes. No Hamlet.’

The player smiles.

‘Oh, it won’t be Hamlet.’

 

 

 

 

 

Vince is sitting on the shop counter. Howard would usually complain about this, but he’s too paranoid about what the players are going to do. They only seemed to confer for a few minutes before warming up and getting ready to begin. Two actors step forward and bow. One of them is wearing a cape. Howard leans on the counter and pretends not to see Vince’s cape reflecting the light beside him.

All of a sudden, the other players all dart forward and start miming. Some crawl on the floor, others make hand gestures in the air. The two original actors look around and nod. Howard is about to turn to Vince and comment when Vince speaks.

‘A zoo!’

‘It’s not supposed to be charades,’ snaps Howard.

‘I’m the one in the cape, of course.’

‘Stop egging them on.’

Howard wants to yell at them to stop, but he can’t. He watches as the mimed animals go after the non-caped actor (who he has now noticed is wearing a rather lot of brown, even by this group’s standards) and the caped one gestures them away before leading them in a dance. More mimed scenes in a similar vein are acted out and Howard wonders what the point is. Are they telling him that he just spends his life being helped out by Vince and doesn’t notice it enough? Is it all a coincidence? Finally, after a figure going after not-at-all-Howard is pushed by him into chasing definitely-not-caped-Vince instead, who then distracts the figure and pushes them over, Howard can’t bear it any more.

‘But why?’

‘Why what?’ asks Vince.

‘Why is it just one saving the other over and over?’

‘Maybe one of them just needs saving a lot.’

‘Not really a story, though, is it?’

‘Maybe it’s a story about relationships.’

Howard didn’t expect Vince to say that.

‘In mime?’

‘You made a village out of stationery, don’t question what they’re doing in mime.’

Howard can’t help but question it, though. The scene has changed again. The caped figure stares at the other one, who is doing what looks like sweeping. Another person enters and the caped figure whispers and gives them something. This third person then goes over to talk to the other one, who stops sweeping and starts smiling. Then the others enter and everyone starts dancing.

‘This one has even less happening.’

‘Sshhh Howard, the party’s just started.’

Vince is right. People are dancing, mimed drinks are consumed. Caped person tries to make non-caped person dance, but the latter stalks off moodily. People seem to point and laugh at the non-caped figure.

‘They aren’t going to-’ mutters Howard, but they are. Not-Howard and Not-Vince are definitely kissing now and the other actors have moved back from the stage area. They go on for an uncomfortably long time. Howard’s face is close to boiling point. He paid five euros to see his own thoughts enacted before him, the worry about what it means that he keeps thinking what that night would have been like if it had gone better, if he hadn’t reacted on instinct and alcohol to make dramatic exclamations and throw them away in disdain moments later. Howard Moon needs time to think. A couple of drinks and some humiliation at an uncomfortable party aren’t a good way for him to work out anything. He doesn’t want to be reminded of this.

The figures break apart, look happy, then immediately step away and shake their heads. The party guests return and the dancing continues whilst both look over at each other across the crowd and then look away. Howard turn to Vince, expecting the same simple enjoyment of the charade as before, but Vince is frowning and there’s a blush on his face. That does it.

‘Out, out!’ Howard shouts. ‘That’s enough of that. It wasn’t even a story. No narrative structure whatsoever, it was ridiculous.’ He moves in front of the counter and shoos them out with his hands. ‘Get out and don’t come back.’

None of the troupe seems to mind. They leave without a word, though the leader turns and winks as he walks out the door.

‘We aren’t like that,’ says Howard as soon as they’re gone.

‘Of course not. You can’t just wear a cape without any thought for the rest of the outfit. It doesn’t work like that.’

‘You don’t just save me. I help you all the time.’

‘Sometimes Naboo saves us.’

‘It’s agreed, then.’

They nod and Vince jumps off the counter and walks across the shop. Neither of them added their desired ‘and we don’t stare that much either’, so neither pay much attention when they turn and look back at each other, one at a time, then look away. It’s too clichéd even for a mime.

 

 

 

 

 

Howard has moved to dust the jazz records that nobody ever looks at and Vince is fiddling with something on the shop counter. The troupe have been gone barely twenty minutes and neither are sure what to say.

‘Vince…’

Howard can’t pretend to be dusting Count Basie any longer. He wants to be less wound up about some stupid actors who don’t even know what they’re doing. How could they even know about him and Vince, he thinks. Must be a coincidence.

‘They were idiots,’ Vince supplies, without any prompting. Howard walks over and sees that Vince has arranged the felt tip pens into a star. Before he can say anything, the door opens again.

‘If that’s-’ he starts, but the newcomer is alone and wearing a green and turquoise robe.

‘Taxi for you,’ the newcomer says, a short man with long blond hair.

‘We didn’t order a taxi,’ Howard says, but Vince is already getting up, apparently unperturbed by this.

‘Was sent for you, not by you,’ the man elaborates.

‘I wonder who it was,’ says Vince, gesturing Howard to follow him. ‘Maybe-’

They step outside and see the carpet. It becomes apparent who it was.

 

 

 

 

 

The Shaman Council has set up a makeshift meeting room outside a pub in Shoreditch. More accurately, in a pub garden in Shoreditch, on two wooden tables pushed together. If Howard didn’t know any better, it would seem that they were simply being invited to the pub. It is clear from the Head Shaman’s face that this is not the case. He looks incredibly serious for someone with three pints in front of them. The others are spread across the tables with various combinations of drinks and bar snacks, though all of them look seriously at Howard and Vince as they approach.

‘Alright,’ says Vince, nodding at first Saboo and then Tony Harrison. They both nod back and are glared at by Dennis, the Head Shaman. Vince steps closer to Howard, which Howard at first thinks is fear before remembering the exact reason why they ended up kissing on the roof. Oh right, the Head Shaman thinks they’re together and in love. He is uncertain how to look like he is in love with Vince, so settles for faintly exasperated, which is how he feels anyway.

‘Naboo’s friends,’ begins Dennis.

‘Occasionally,’ mutters Howard.

‘-we have brought you here to give you a mission to perform on behalf of us.’

‘Oh good.’

‘Shut up!’ yells Tony Harrison. Howard ignores him and looks at Vince, who is gesturing at Howard towards the Head Shaman with his head and eyes. Howard isn’t certain if this means he should shut up and listen, or to pretend to be in love more, so he settles for both, turning back to listen whilst leaning closer to Vince.

‘Naboo has been very secretive with us recently. We wish to discover what he is hiding, but unfortunately he has broken no laws that we know of, so we cannot force him to reveal his doings. You two are uniquely placed to find out what he might be doing. Subtly question him until you find out what he is up to.’

The Head Shaman looks at them expectantly. Howard and Vince exchange a look.

‘What if we refuse?’ Vince asks. Howard is glad he let the person in the shiny hat and cape go for the bravado.

‘Then you both will be killed. Or one of you will be killed in front of the other and then we’ll free the living one to go about their life in grief. Or we’ll tie you both up and kill kittens in front of you. Or-’

‘We get the picture. No room for refusal. Fantastic, we’ll be on our way,’ says Howard quickly, because Kirk is giving him an evil looking glare.

‘Wait,’ says Vince. ‘Why’s Naboo so important? Why does it matter what he’s up to?’

At this, all the shamans round the table look at each other and burst out laughing simultaneously.

‘You two think you’re so important,’ Saboo says once he’s calmed down a bit. ‘It’s incredibly funny. Vince Noir and Howard Moon, main characters.’ He breaks down in laughter again. ‘You don’t even have a story arc.’

‘Hey, we’re real people, we don’t need a story arc,’ protests Vince, but Howard is already pulling him by the arm.

‘C’mon, let’s get out of here.’

‘Don’t you want a lift home?’ Dennis gestures towards the carpet.

‘We’re fine, thanks.’

Howard pulls Vince out of the pub garden and down the road. It is only once they are a street away that he drops Vince’s arm.

‘Howard, what’re you doing?’

‘They threatened to kill us, and last time you met the Head Shaman, he tried to kill you too. Don’t you think we should spend as little time as possible in their company?’

‘Maybe. I’d forgotten he tried to kill me before.’

‘Oh great, I was the only one of us who remembered that your continued existence rests on him believing we are-’ Howard gestures between them.

‘Easy to point at? Come on Howard, spit it out.’ 

Vince is smirking; he clearly knows exactly what Howard means. Howard tries to pick a phrase that doesn’t involve ‘love’ or ‘kissing’ or anything else that will make him blush.

‘In a relationship.’

‘People believe that all the time without me doing anything, so I’m sure it was fine.’ Howard can’t argue with that. ‘Now, how are we going to question Naboo? I say, we catch him in a haze of smoke, ask him bluntly what he’s up to, then peer down at him like interrogators until he talks.’

‘And you think that’ll work?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s ridiculous. You can’t question someone like that. You’ve got to wrongfoot them, seem subtle, come in from different angles. Set them at ease and sneak the questions in like I sneak vegetables into your meals.’

‘You don’t.’

‘I do. Sometimes, Vince, you eat healthily and you don’t even know it.’

‘That’s a betrayal of trust.’

‘And cutting my hair whilst I’m asleep isn’t?’

‘That’s a service.’

‘As is this. Don’t want you to die of scurvy when you could die of failing to question Naboo successfully because you’ve barged in and gone “what are you hiding?” like the world’s worst detective.’

‘The world’s worst detective is Jason the Seal Detective and you know it. He actually causes crime to happen because he’s so bad. Crime that wouldn’t even happen without him.’

‘Fine,’ Howard concedes. ‘Like the second worst detective.’

‘If you don’t like my idea-’

‘I don’t.’

‘Fine.’

They walk back to the shop in silence, both with folded arms. Occasionally Vince’s cape hits Howard in the breeze. Otherwise they do not touch.

 

 

 

 

 

Naboo is on the sofa, watching TV, with a joint in his hand and his feet on the coffee table. He insists on keeping the coffee table close enough to the sofa that his feet can reach it, even if it leaves very little space for anyone to get to the sofa. Crisp packets litter the table and there’s no sign that Naboo is doing anything that the Shaman Council should worry about.

‘What are you watching?’ Howard asks, then winks dramatically at Vince. Their bickering is forgotten in the face of the task.

Naboo shrugs, then realises that Howard is actually waiting for an answer like he cares.

‘Cash In The Cove. It’s about-’

‘-sea creatures finding valuable heirlooms and taking them to auction,’ completes Vince. ‘It’s well good, I watch it sometimes when I’m meant to be working-’ He looks at Howard’s expression. ‘When I’m on my break.’

Howard is not deterred by this potential distraction.

‘Where’s Bollo?’

‘DJing a kids’ party. Apparently it’s good money and all the kids want hip hop beats now anyway. Why are you taking such an interest?’

‘Just...seeing what’s doing on, y’know. Keeping up to date. Howard Moon isn’t a behind kind of man.’

Vince snorts. ‘Sometimes, Howard, you’re so behind that even the distant past is lapping you.’

‘Shut it Vince.’

Howard glares at him and jerks his head towards Naboo. Vince nods.

‘So, Naboo, what’s happening round here? Me and Howard have been too busy with the whole shop thing, we’ve not seen you in ages.’

Naboo eyes him suspiciously.

‘You saw me last night. Bollo told you to stop singing duets whilst one of you is in the shower and the other is doing their make up in the mirror.’

Vince grins.

‘Yeah, Howard, stop doing your make up whilst I’m in the shower.’

‘Naboo, that’s unfair, sometimes Vince isn’t doing his make up, he’s drawing pictures in the steam.’

‘Pictures of you naked, are they?’ Howard goes deep red. ‘Why else would he need to be in the bathroom with you to do it?’

‘Fuck off Naboo,’ says Vince. ‘You know those pictures show a timeless tale of truth and wonder.’

‘The only truth they show is you trying to stare at Howard’s arse. Which is an image I really didn’t want to consider.’

‘The image of his arse or of me staring?’

‘Both. Why are you dressed as a pirate, anyway?’

Before Vince can correct him, Howard jumps in, wanting to get the conversation back on track.

‘Got any...interesting stories recently, Naboo? New hobbies? Anything worth telling us about?’

‘Why, have you? Anything you need to share with the group?’

Howard can see where this is going.

‘Nope. None at all. Was just interested in how you are on this fine weekday afternoon, sitting here all alone with your marijuana and no familiar to boss around.’

Naboo has a calculating look in his eyes. Howard wonders if it might get them closer to the truth that the shamans are looking for.

‘If you two ballbags are really so interested in helping me out, you can go down to the river and pick up an ingredient I need for a potion I’m making tomorrow.’

‘Why’re you making it tomorrow?’ Vince asks. ‘Does it need a certain moon or something?’

‘No, just I’m going out tonight, meeting Bollo after his party and we’re going to some new club. Now, at the river-’

‘Do we need to pick it? Is it like grass?’

‘Nah, just ask for a guy called Horatio, he’ll give it to you. Now fuck off, I want to find out what this starfish is gonna get for the antique rocking horse.’

 

 

 

 

 

‘Do you think we’re part of Naboo’s secret empire now?’ Vince asks as they begin to walk towards the river.

‘If Naboo has a secret empire, we were already part of it, we work for him,’ Howard points out.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Vince starts eating from a bag of sweets.

‘Where did you get those from? You don’t have any pockets.’

‘They just appeared. I assumed you gave me them.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Howard?’

‘Yes?’

‘Why aren’t we the main characters?’

‘Why do you expect me to know?’

‘You tend to know these narrative things more than me. I thought you’d know why we just say we’re walking to the river and set off in any direction and eventually we are just there, at the river.’

‘I don’t know. In fact, you probably know more than I do, you seem to take these sorts of things in your stride. “Why are we here?” “Oh, it doesn’t matter, we just are.”’

‘I ain’t simple, Howard. I just don’t have time for all the existential crises that you do.’

Howard doesn’t respond. He looks straight ahead and pretends he isn’t saying what he is about to say.

‘Do you stare at me in the shower?’

‘Sometimes.’ 

Howard whips his head around whilst making a vague gurgling noise. Vince is looking very interested in the flying saucer he’s about to eat. He pokes at it with his tongue and finally eats it, taking his time chewing before speaking.

‘Only a bit. Snatched glances. Did you not want me to say that? “Never, Howard, in fact all thoughts I’ve ever had about you were totally fine and above board, even when we were actually kissing.” There. Better?’

‘We must be near the river now. This meaningless walking can’t last forever.’

‘I’m giving you a revelation here, Howard, stop wishing the walk away.’

‘Can’t you save the...revelations or whatever for when we’re not-’

Howard isn’t sure what entirely they are doing. Walking nowhere, or walking to the river, or trying to achieve something.

‘Not what? Not doing an errand for a high shaman? Not spying on the shaman for some other shamans who’ve threatened to kill us? It’s all in a day’s work, so what better time is there? Besides, you asked.’

‘I didn’t expect you to answer.’

‘You did, you expected a nice bit of reassurance that Howard Moon’s world is all safe and ordered, just as he thinks it should be. Our life ain’t ordered, Howard, and you gotta get your head round that.’

‘Life should be ordered. Preparation and organisation are key. You can’t just do anything successfully without preparation. You have your plan, you keep things in order, and all is well.’

‘But what about better than “well”? Improvisation? Don’t you always go on about improvisation and shit? Like if life’s one great jazz song - and no, it ain’t, but I’m putting it in terms you’ll get - then you gotta improvise sometimes or it’d be well boring, right? But if sometimes, you do something different, something unplanned, go off script, then it’ll be more exciting.’

Suddenly, Vince stops walking. Howard automatically stops beside him.

‘Vince?’

‘Look, if I kiss you again and this time you know it’s happening, will you be less surprised and squirmy?’

‘Vince…’

‘Only if you agree to doing it, of course. Otherwise we’ll just keep on walking to the river with no deviations from the plan. Don’t even need to find words, if you can’t, ‘cause for someone who loves words you can be bloody useless at getting them out. Just nod or shake. Kiss or no. I mean, it’s not every day that a new new romantic offers to kiss you, but I understand if that might be too overwhel-’

‘Yes.’

Vince steps closer to him, cups a hand to Howard’s cheek, and before Howard can process what is happening, they are kissing, much more tentatively than before, and not for an audience. Vince’s other hand takes Howard’s. The sensation reminds Howard that he’s meant to be reacting so he does, though he’s not quite sure what he’s doing. It feels good regardless. He is kissing Vince and it isn’t to save either of their lives or even - as he’d started to fear would happen - as a result of a dare or bet from Naboo. Vince’s hand runs down his neck and he shivers and leans closer to Vince.

‘Ahem.’

Howard’s brain protests the second they break apart until he processes what he is seeing. They are surrounded. Surrounded by pirates.

 

 

 

 

 

‘Ghost pirates,’ grumbles Howard. ‘We’ve been captured by ghost pirates.’ Vince, tied next to him around the barrel, laughs.

‘I did tell you unplanned things would happen. At least we reached the river.’

‘Reached it? We’re floating on it, soon to face certain death at the hands of pirates. I don’t think that’s a success.’

‘And they insulted my outfit.’

‘You are a bit of a glittery fool, Vince. They just clearly aren’t new new romantics.’

‘You remembered! Shame neither of us will survive to know that it couldn’t’ve been a pirate outfit because real pirates didn’t like it.’

‘Ghost pirates.’

‘With a real ship that we’re really tied up on.’

They fall silent. Howard looks around the cabin they have been left in. It is empty except for them and the barrel. No hope of escape. The pirates claimed to have a letter telling them to capture and kill any duo who appeared if one was wearing brown and the other a glittery cape.

‘Do you think it was Naboo?’ Vince asks. Howard shrugs as best he can with arms tied to his sides.

‘I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Maybe he realised what we were up to. Kill the spies in an act of revenge. He’ll string up our bodies as a warning.’

‘You need to watch more light-hearted stuff. No wonder you’re always on a downer, if your mind goes like that.’

‘Vince, we’re literally about to die, it is a bit of a “downer” situation. You know, “death, the undiscovered country”-’

‘Thanks Hamlet.’

‘You remembered!’

‘Sometimes I listen to what you say.’ Vince twists his head to look at Howard. ‘Don’t look smug, only sometimes.’ He looks down at the floor. ‘Howard…’

‘Yes?’

‘Before, when we’ve been about to die-’

‘A terrific phrase, that.’

‘-you’ve said something. To me. A confession, of sorts.’

‘And you laughed. Can’t ever be serious, might ruin the sunshine persona, even in the face of death. Or it’s just so funny, me having emotions, or the idea of you feeling them back, that you-’

‘Of course I love you, that’s a given, Howard. It was just so unexpected that you’d actually ever say it, out loud, to me. And I didn’t really know if it was declaration type love that I felt, or just like, y’know, mates, where you know you love them but you don’t need to say it, it’s not that sort of thing.’

Howard gulps.

‘And which is it?’

‘The declaration kind.’

‘That’s convenient. Me too.’

‘I’d gathered that.’

‘I wasn’t sure then, though. Then I thought it was just…’ Howard pauses. ‘...the only chance to tell you how important you are.’

‘Maybe that’s our reason.’

‘What?’

‘Why we left the zoo and ended up in the flat with Naboo and Bollo. Maybe it doesn’t matter, so long as we’re together. Because we’re important to each other. Naboo’s the main focus, Saboo said, but maybe we’re here for each other.’

‘I don’t think it matters now we’re about to die.’

‘But that proves it, ‘cause that’ll be together.’

‘Vince.’

‘Howard.’

‘I love you.’

‘I-’

The door opens.

 

 

 

 

 

Naboo laughs. Bollo, standing behind him, laughs too. They laugh for a full minute before they calm down.

‘Interrupting a heartfelt moment, are we?’ Naboo says.

‘We’re about to die,’ Howard replies. ‘You can’t judge our final words.’

‘You got captured by ghost pirates because you were kissing, I can judge you two twats all I want.’ At their combined questioning looks, he continues. ‘The alphabet fridge magnets told me, of course. Soon as Bollo got home, we flew here on the carpet, froze the ghosties with a spell, and have come to grab you two.’

‘But you tried to kill us!’

‘What? No I didn’t, I just sent you down here to get rid of you for a bit and stop you asking me so many questions.’

‘Then who did?’

‘Ahhh.’ Naboo taps his nose. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

‘Yes, actually, we would.’

Naboo looks at Bollo and rolls his eyes.

‘Shaman council. Thought they were up to something. You two acting all shifty, trying to interrogate me, knew they had to have something to do with it. Had a quick word with them before Bollo finished at the party. They thought I was keeping quiet trying to uncover ancient secrets and stage a revolution.’

‘You weren’t?’ asks Vince.

‘Nah. Just looking for some...shadier potion recipes and keeping quiet about it. I got a black market to serve, after all. But the council decided they didn’t trust you after all and told the pirates to kill you. C’mon, we’d better get off the boat before your ghost pirate friends awake from the spell.’

Bollo sniggers as he unties them from the barrel.

‘Captured by ghost pirates, good one.’

‘It’s not a joke,’ protests Howard. ‘We were going to die.’

‘Gotta learn to live with it,’ says Naboo with a shrug. He leads them out of the cabin and off the ship, past the frozen ghosts. Down the gangplank and they are back on dry land, Vince adjusting his hat and cape and Howard looking down at his arms in wonder that he made it off the ship unharmed. The carpet is waiting for them, hovering on the shore.

‘Two person carpet,’ Bollo says, blocking Howard as he moves to get on it.

‘You two can walk,’ offers Naboo. ‘Sounded like you had some shit to sort out, a walk might help.’

‘A walk might help _you_ ,’ mutters Howard, but Naboo and Bollo are gone, flying off on the little carpet.

‘Ready?’ asks Vince, starting to walk. Howard follows.

‘Vince?’

‘Don’t tell me you’re taking it back.’

‘What?’

‘Only feeling things when our lives are at sta-’

‘No no no! No! No sir, not at all.’

‘Any more “no”s?’

‘No.’ 

They both look at each other with raised eyebrows. Vince giggles and Howard looks proud. They walk in silence for a while.

‘Howard, do we need to sort out shit?’

Howard panics. He isn’t sure how this type of thing is sorted out. Not with more than just blushing and stuttering and trying to get across his thoughts via hand gestures and attempted words.

‘We should….we could...we…’

‘Musically.’

Howard looks at Vince in confusion, wondering if he’s just started saying random words in place of actual communication. Vince taps one hand against his leg, like a count in, and starts singing, but it’s not singing, it’s crimping, and Howard knows how to join in, doesn’t think about it because that’s not how you crimp. And they’re turning the day into a song, as they do with important moments they share together, but this time it’s different, because it’s building towards something and it’s saying something too, something about being in tune, not musically, but together. Unspoken, even unsung, they know that neither of them was lying that day. Apprehensive, uncertain about what would happen, a little confused by how the day unfolded (aren’t they always), but honest.

‘...  
Naboo comes and saves us,  
comes in on a carpet,  
pirate freeze, pirate freeze,  
no more Mr Ghostie.  
Vince and Howard,  
saying I love you,  
things are gonna change now,  
but not all of them,  
things are gonna change now,  
but in a good way.’

They stop, slightly out of breath, and look at each other, grinning, caught in the moment. It’s not their best, song-wise, but that doesn’t matter at all.

‘What was with all that singing?’

The voice is familiar.

‘Wait, haven’t I see that outfit before? The space pirate and lover boy who kicked me out of the shop?’

Howard sighs. It isn’t a day for getting a break.

 

 

 

 

 

Quite why they’re on a stage in Hackney, Howard isn’t sure. Not long ago, they were surrounded by an angry playing troupe, whose anger at being thrown out of the Nabootique during their performance was almost enough to cause some real problems. Luckily, Vince had doffed his hat and twirled his cape and offered to help them out if they didn’t run after Howard with mimed pitchforks or whatever else they were planning.

‘Our distinguished audience, let me introduce to you, The Players!’

The announcer throws off her top hat and moves back into the group. They are about to start their show. Howard and Vince haven’t been fully briefed on what the show entails, just that they’ll get a signal whenever their sound effects or singing are needed. The group are rehearsing for their fringe show and their usual vocalists are off sick, so for one night only, and in return for Howard not being attacked by people apparently skilled in stage combat, they are the sounds of the show. The show begins with a sudden flurry of movement. The players are playing.

Sitting on top of a chest of drawers right on the edge of the stage, Vince makes animal noises and Howard imitates echoes and they both become a thunderstorm that nearly threatens to topple the chest of drawers over. The stage is dark and Howard can barely be seen, though Vince’s silver outfit catches the stage lights and shines around the small theatre. Vince’s hand rests on top of Howard’s between them, mostly obscured from the view of the audience.

‘Alright, Howard?’ Vince asks during the applause as the first act ends.

‘Alright, Vince.’

‘You should smile like that more often.’

‘Like how?’ Howard hadn’t realised he was smiling.

‘Like you’re happy.’

The applause dies down before Howard can respond. The second act passes much the same as the first, though they get to use their crimping skills during what seems to be a psychedelic dream scene. Even Howard isn’t sure what is exactly meant to be going on, but he has other things on his mind. Vince has edged closer to him so their legs are touching and Howard can feel every time Vince moves to make a sound effect. He can’t see the audience, he can barely see the actors at times, but Vince is always there.

As the show ends and the applause begins, Howard turns to face Vince and without thinking beyond ‘it’s too dark for anyone to see more than a silver blur’, takes off Vince’s hat and kisses him. The sound of clapping surrounds them. Nobody is watching them. Howard feels Vince pull at his arm and take the hat out of his grasp, then something is placed onto his own head.

‘Vince…’ he starts to admonish half-heartedly, barely making a sound. Vince laughs, but it is distracted, out of breath, a little dazed. The lights start to dim as the actors retreat. The crowd are starting to move and go home. The curtains close. The audience is gone. Howard stares at Vince in the gloom, Vince grinning and adjusting Howard’s hair that’s caught under the new new romantic hat. The lights keeping dimming, until it is dark. The play is over.

‘Let’s go home.’

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The crimp wasn't meant to be representative of theirs, I just wanted to get across that they were actually 'sorting shit out' within it.
> 
> 2) Thanks to alichay for listening when I went 'what if The Mighty Boosh was like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead and they weren't the main characters but Naboo was'. It sparked the idea to write this.
> 
> 3) You can walk from Dalston to the river without the aid of metatheatrical devices, but it would just take a lot longer.
> 
> 4) I feel like there should be some kind of bingo game for references to the play within this. They are mostly gratuitous except the arts cuts one. That's making a point.


End file.
